Riverstones
by Eilean Donan
Summary: In the lands of the far North, a King is cursed and dispossessed. Fantasy re-telling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon. Please review :
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

**Prologue**

_"The Ice Lords will pronounce your doom," said the man, bound by the wrists by shackles of iron. "To thus take what is mine is an insult to their loyalty to me ! You have wrought your own damned fate."_

_The old queen sneered at him, then she laughed as she drove a shard of ice into his heart. He felt the cold fire of his soul flare for one moment brighter than any ice star, and then it faded, taking with it all the magic he had left. But there was one place she could not reach, where the ice could not go, a place Troll-magic could not touch. _

_"Well, well, king of vagabonds !" she smirked, as the iron that bound his wrists fell to the floor, shattered by the ice, "go then; I release you into your kingdom !"_

_He knew what had been done, and knew that only in the Wastes could he find the key to it being undone. _

_"I will bring you ruin," he vowed, and deep in his blood the oath was heard. He flung back his head and howled. "I swear revenge ! I swear I will break every chain you have forged, and I will forge you new ones !" With his oath ringing in his ears, bitterly he left his castle, and turned his face to the North. _

_There, he crossed the last river, but he found no release, but the Ice Lords placed upon him a condition to counter the curse: that unless he could find a girl to love him without seeing his true form for a year and a day, then his aunt would win the land and he would be bound in marriage to his cousin._

_"This is a condition I cannot agree to," he told them, "is there no other way ?"_

_"Arnoth has woven the web," said the Ice Lord, towering above him with a crown of stars on his head, "and what Arnoth weaves cannot be undone. But this condition which I place upon you may change your fate. It does not have to be final."_

_He had known that would be their answer. He bowed his head. "Thank you," he said, well aware of what angering the Ice Lords meant. The Lord smiled._

_"Go, then," he said, "carve yourself a new destiny."_

_The man did not think it possible._


	2. Chapter 2

**Part One - Brookwater**

In that part of the world, winter was harsh. No moon shone but a dark moon, and no light from the ice-stars; all was black, all was silent. Anyone who valued comfort, light, and indeed life, was indoors by blazing fires, sipping hot spiced cider and breathing deep of the green scents of pine bough and mistletoe, and honey from the beeswax candles lighting up the winter's night. For the man who struggled on through the snow, deep enough to reach to his knees in places, these things were too far away to offer even a glimmer of hope, but still he struggled on his journey, the dark fur of his coat sodden with melted snowflakes and his feet half-frozen – to simply stop and give up was to give up forever. He bitterly regretted his situation, though he'd been wandering, lost and rootless, for years.

In a brief respite from the swirling snow, he saw he'd come to the crest of a hill. And there, in the valley below, was light, a dark, flickering gold that surely came from a cosy hearth. He resumed his weary trudge with a lighter heart and hopes of hot stew and spiced wine.

* * *

"Mila, lass, add more ginger, it needs more of a kick," said the old woman to her granddaughter as they stirred a small crock of apple wine over the fire. The scent of a late summer drifted through the room and the fire burned hot enough for Mila to have left her thick wool kirtle off, though not the sheepskin shoes she wore for there was nothing on the floor to take the chill from the flagstones. Into the far corners of the room winter had crept unchecked by fire or candlelight, the howling wind slipping unhindered through the inevitable cracks in the shutters and under the thick wooden door. She smiled and added a little more ginger, and her grandmother promptly added far more.

"Grandmother, that's too much !" she protested, but the old woman gave her a derisive snort, ladling more thyme honey into the mixture to sweeten it.

"Rubbish, that's just the right amount," she chuckled, "we want this to – now who under the moon could that be ?"

Mila had heard it too, the rattling of the door in its frame, a thumping of someone's fist against it, trying to be heard above the rising storm. She held her breath as her grandmother went to see who it could be, mindful of the old stories of winter gods who visited households disguised as beggars, to see who displayed charity and who had nothing but meanness and rude words to bestow. The man who stood there on the threshold certainly looked ragged, and a stranger to those parts too, to judge from the set of his blue eyes and the angle of his cheekbones, hollow and pale. She met his eyes briefly, and felt pity, and something she could not understand. Something she had not felt since her parents had died, years before, in the bitter wars when the old king was slain. She thrust it away, back to the deep places of herself, unwilling to acknowledge even the memories.

"Come in," the old woman invited, and the man shook himself. An avalanche of snow cascaded from his thin shoulders, and he stepped over the threshold and into the golden warmth of the kitchen, blinking a little in the light.

"I'm not a goblin, nor a god," he said, well aware of their fears as he laid his wide-brimmed leather hat carefully to dry in the inglenook. He accepted a cup of the hot apple wine with a gracious nod to the girl who'd presented it, and crouched shivering before the flames to warm himself. "I'm from the North lands, and I've spent the summer south of your Great River. I'm afraid I left it too late for finding winter quarters."

"I'm afraid you have," said Mila's grandmother with a stern stare as his eyes flickered to Mila, the light of appreciation firing their icy blue depths. Mila found herself sent off to the hayloft to gather straw for stuffing a mattress. She knew that her grandmother would be locking her in her room that night, in case he should decide to see how far he could push their hospitality.

She wrinkled her nose when she came back in, for his coat, taken off and hung to dry, had started to fill the room with a pungent odour that spoke of unwashed man and unwashed fur. She removed it to the pantry instead, where it would take longer to dry but not offend her senses quite so much. He smirked, quite unabashed.

"I've come a long way," he said, by way of explanation.

"And I suppose your way didn't take you past any bath-houses ?" Mila retorted, then blushed at her own rudeness. But he didn't seem to mind, and instead let his grin grow wider. She noted that he looked at home already, as if he'd been here before and was a regular visitor, instead of a stranger abroad in a bitter blizzard. She found herself sent away again, this time to fetch a cold salt ham and a redcurrant pie from the chill-house, her grandmother's eye on both her and the stranger with a distinct air of disapproval.

"I am called Arianlach," he said, introducing himself at the old woman's request. Mila looked at him scornfully, her left eyebrow flicking up. She knew from reading the old book the man Iriel had left her what the name meant: _silver flame._ But he did not look like a shining silver star, with his coarse brown hair bound in a tangled coil that hung to his waist, and sword-scars on his arms telling their own tale of violence. He looked like what he was, a vagabond, a wanderer, a stranger. She turned her back on him in disgust, unaware that his eyes followed her as she stalked from the room to fetch bedding for him.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning saw their guest standing bare to the waist before the kitchen fire which had been newly banked. He had scrubbed himself clean with river sand and hot water, and now was waiting for his shirt to dry. There was a small tattoo on his breast, a ward-rune outlined in blue and roughly done. He looked outlandish, and when he turned and fixed his cold blue stare on her, she recoiled.

"Did you sleep well ?" she asked. He pointed to several small stones that lay on the table next to the rising loaves of bread.

"No."

Mila looked at the stones, her heart sinking. The bed she'd made up for him had looked comfortable enough, near the warmth of the fire, the mattress stuffed thick with fresh straw. Now the straw was nowhere to be seen, though the palliase was neatly rolled and placed in a corner.

"Those stones were in with the straw," Arianlach continued, though his tone wasn't angry. "Look here." He showed her a deep red bruise in his ribs. "This is where the largest sank into my flesh to leave its mark; so you see, I did not sleep."

Her jaw dropped. The largest stone was barely bigger than her fingernail – hardly enough to leave a mark let alone bruise so severely. He pulled his shirt on and tied the neck cords, his eyes never leaving hers. She hugged her arms around her body, feeling a sudden chill.

"I am sorry," she said at last, "It was dark, I could not check the straw for stones."

"A salve of lavender and comfrey will restore me. But tonight, fill my mattress by candle light, so that nothing but straw gets in."

Mila hurried to get the salve, beginning to feel less ashamed for the stones and more angry at his arrogance and presumption that he would be welcome to stay another night. She ran into her grandmother in the passageway.

"He thinks he's a lord, with all his orders and arrogance," she said through gritted teeth, but the old woman merely smiled, and carried on with a pail of milk, nearly full. She fetched the comfrey salve, scented delicately with summer roses from her garden, and stamped back in to the kitchen. He watched her slyly and lifted his arm to let her apply it. She slapped the pot down on the table.

"Do it yourself," she said.

"Ah, but it's your fault I have this bruise," he shrugged.

"Do as he says, Mila," ordered her grandmother. Mila gritted her teeth and slapped the salve on the livid bruise, making sure she was none too gentle. He hissed through his teeth, but endured the assault with no complaint, and then eased his shirt on. Despite its recent washing, the coarse old linen hung grey and ragged on his thin body.

"Thank you, lady," he said, inclining his head graciously. He gave her a sweet smile as her grandmother came in.

"Our hens have started laying again this morning, Mila," said the old woman, proudly displaying a basket of eggs, all a warm speckled brown. "And the cow's given thick white cream ! It will be a good Winter Feast we shall have, in three days."

The stranger's mouth twitched, and he admired the still-warm eggs and tasted the cream. Mila put the bread in the oven and went to fetch butter, determined not to speak to him. He followed her.

"The weather's bad," he said, leaning against the door to the dairy and giving the falling snow a critical glare, "perhaps I will have to stay a few days more. And if your grandmother doesn't object, then why should you ?"

"All I've had is admonitions and orders to do your bidding, as if you were a king ! Why should I not object, _stranger_ ?"

He shrugged. "I have travelled long, and far. I have a mind to settle somewhere and be a stranger no more. What is the name of this place ?"

Mila took down a dish of butter and handed it to him, then reached for a round yellow cheese. "Brookwater," she said. It was a simple name, for a simple place. Arianlach smiled, and said as much. She shrugged past him with no reply, and he followed her back into the house.

"Brookwater," he repeated, savouring the name. The word on his lips instantly made her think of Spring thaws and fresh cold riverwater running down from the mountains. She would go into the mountains once Spring came, to pick fresh heather and mountain thyme for salves and ointments. Such a time seemed far off yet, and she thought wistfully of spring breezes and warm summer winds. Arianlach set the dish of butter upon the table and she took the bread from the oven, filling the kitchen with the enticing smell of grain and yeast. "Perhaps Brookwater has room for another man, even one as strange as me." He grinned at her then, revealing his teeth. Mila gasped.

"Ah, yes," he said bitterly, "as you see, there are none stranger than me. You were right to call me what you did."

She looked him over properly for the first time, and now she saw what she hadn't seen before – that his eye teeth were sharp though short, and his pupils were slitted like a serpent's. _Troll. But Trolls do not bruise from small riverstones !_

But there was a sudden softness of tears in his cold blue eyes, and he turned away with his smile fading.

"I thought your kind lived only in the far North, beyond the ice plains," she said, feeling an awkward and reluctant pity for him. He half-turned, flicking her a bitter glance from the corner of his eye.

"I am not _all_ Troll," he said, and that was all he would say.


	4. Chapter 4

The day of the Winter Feast dawned cold and sunny though fresh snow had fallen the night before covering everything with a blanket of virgin white. When Mila rose, she found Arianlach already hard at work clearing the path to the dairy and the byre, his breath steaming in the icy air. He looked round when she emerged from the house, and paused in his work.

"I will milk the cow," he offered, leaning on his spade, "when I've finished this. And fetch the eggs. I know there is other work for you to do."

"Never mind _my_ work, concentrate on your own," she retorted. He flung down the spade and pulled up his shirt. Three purple bruises marked his ribs.

"Why ?" he demanded.

"You're not half what you seem," she said, "who – or what - are you ?"

"I have told you – my name is Arianlach. Is your memory so short ? I hope I'll not have to tell you again, Mila."

She turned back inside and slammed the door, her cheeks flaming red at his angry tone.

"Grandmother, either he goes or I go ! I will not have a sorcerer under our roof – especially one of the troll-folk, though I doubt that's what he really is !"

The old woman, seated comfortably in her rocking chair by the fire, put down her knitting and glared at her granddaughter.

"Troll-folk or not, he is willing to work, and besides, maybe it is time you were thinking about marriage."

"_Grandmother_ !" Mila was horrified. She marched to the window and looked out at the man who had worked his way to the end of the path with his spade. He looked perfectly ordinary from her watch-post, but she couldn't shake the image of his eyes, and those sharp troll teeth. Broad-shouldered, but too thin, tall but strangely slender, foreign and fey. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. Her grandmother chuckled.

"Don't be too quick to judge, Mila," she said, and went back to her knitting.

* * *

At sunset, the great fire in the village was lit, and the ox, having roasted all day in its pit, was unearthed and carved and a portion served to each villager. Arianlach, in his old and patched tunic and with his strange eyes, felt both privileged to be part of such a gay gathering and distinctly out of place. He kept trying to catch Mila's eye, but the girl refused to look at him, or be near him. He could not see that she had other suitors, but he knew well enough what he looked like, and that he probably did not fit the image she had of her one true love. He was not like the men here, with their square exuberant faces and thick limbs. Despondently, he wolfed his beef, and flung back his ale, determined to get drunk, if she would not look at him. He fielded questions from the village's men-folk, and ignored the curious glances he got from its women-folk. He took care not to smile, and the darkness shadowed his eyes. They did not know what he was. Finally, she came to him, her dark hair lit from behind with a halo of fire. He felt drawn to that fire, a fire he saw in her every day. He thought he might burn if he touched her, and yet he craved to do so.

"You can crawl home, if you're too drunk to walk," she said archly, raking her eyes over him. "Because I will not carry you !"

He drained his mug.

"Dance with me," he said. She laughed at him. He felt no mirth, and took her hands in his, a firm grip she couldn't escape. "One dance with me, Mila, will not kill you," he scowled. She curled her lip at him but submitted to the dance. He could see by her face that she had not expected him to know how. He gave her a bitter smile, and let her go when the tune ended, but to his surprise, she remained by his side until the fire burned low and the time came for them to make their way home.

"Where have you come from, Arianlach ?" she asked him once they were on the path that led to the cottage, "I mean, really – where, exactly ?" She walked close to him, not marching ahead as she might have done on business to the village. He thought she'd been afraid to be seen too close to him lest people talk. Now, he was the one afraid, afraid of touching her. There were only inches between them, and he could feel her heat.

"The Northern wastes, beyond the white sea," he said with a lopsided smile. He looked up at the black sky, the cold stars glittering like jewels. In the North, where stars hung low and the green fire danced, he had once had enough magic to take one from the sky and give it to her, but here and now, he had nothing, only what he could do with a touch to eggs and milk. Small things, green things. Not the high and elaborate magic of his own people. She caught his gaze, and looked quickly away. He pointed upwards. "Do you know your stars ?" he asked, "look there – that's the Great Bear. And there, the Archer. I am named for the stars, they are my kingdom, Mila. Where I come from, there is nothing but starlight and ice. It hasn't always been that way."

"It seems to me that there's not much more than that here, either," she sighed, slipping a little on the ice. "At least not at the moment. I long for Spring !" He caught her elbow but she shook him off. "I can manage ! I'll be glad when the winter is over."

He said nothing, only gazed up at the stars with sad eyes. She didn't wait for him to follow, but made her way down to her house alone.


	5. Chapter 5

The Spring thaw came, and with it disease, to which many of the villagers succumbed. It ravished young and old alike and seemed to thrive on the rains, driving a crippling damp into the lungs of all, until they choked on their own blood, and drowned in their own fluids. Arianlach and Mila seemed the only ones untouched, and both worked hard to alleviate the symptoms of the sickness with herbs from Mila's garden, though their efforts were often in vain.

"You need to rest," said Arianlach one night, as Mila came into the kitchen and sank down into her chair, her face pale and her eyes red. He had been at the other end of the village where three young children were sick. "I will see to your grandmother."

She looked up at him with a look in her eyes that told him all he needed to know. His heart stopped.

"We did what we could," he said quietly, and sat down opposite her. In a little while he rose again, and went to do what was needed. Mila wept.

* * *

Arianlach resolved to do what he could for the girl, and though the Spring had come at last and the roads were clear of snow, he stayed in Brookwater. Her hens laid large speckled eggs, the cow continued to give thick creamy milk, and the vegetable garden sprouted far earlier than the gardens of those few neighbours who had survived the sickness. He hung up the ragged fur coat he'd worn all winter and accepted a new one from Mila, of dark grey wool. He liked it; it made him look nondescript, homely. _Plain, that's what you are and that is what they all must see_. The roses over the old woman's grave bloomed early, and thick. Mila said nothing, but continued to tolerate his presence in her house, or so it seemed to him. He did not know that she'd come to view him as a friend – and that she'd never let him see that for fear of what it would mean. They shared meals together, and they shared lore in the evenings, telling their stories over cups of spiced ale. She asked him one day to go herb-gathering with her into the mountains, and he went, carrying the basket for the herbs on his arm, and their lunch across his shoulders in a white linen cloth. The day was fresh, and the sun warm, and he soon began to sweat with the exertion as they climbed higher into the hills. After what seemed an eternity, she found what she wanted, and Arianlach sat down gratefully in the moss to rest while his companion harvested herbs.

"You could help, you know," she said, but her tone was light and gay, not the sneer he had once endured. He smiled up at her.

"I have no herb-lore," he said, though it wasn't true – he only wanted to sit and watch her graceful form as she harvested the plants, "I don't know what I'm gathering."

She dropped several sprigs of green into his lap, then knelt before him and picked through them, laying them out side-by side on his knee. Warmth spread through him as she bent her head close to his and he realised that he was a mere breadth from a kiss. The thought quickened his heartbeat and he picked up a sprig of thorny green topped with tiny star-like flowers.

"What is this ?" he asked huskily. She took it from his fingers and held it under his nose. The scent was intoxicating, a promise of summer with a tang of the salt sea, and he closed his eyes and breathed deep.

"We call this _sourwort_," she smiled. "Doesn't live up to its name, does it ?"

He laughed, and picked up another cutting. "And this ?" She reached for it and he closed his fingers over hers. She pulled away.

"We should hurry, or we'll be caught up here after dark," she said, and went back to her work, keeping her face from his view. Arianlach sighed and hugged his knees up against his chest, resting his chin on them and staring down the mountain. He could see the village below, and the river curling through the valley alongside until it disappeared into the gorge that rose up into higher ground. It was his home, now, but to his lonely eyes it looked like a stranger's land. He rose to his feet with a sigh.

"Show me what to pick, and I'll pick it," he said brusquely, "we should be making our way back down soon."

* * *

Mila watched everything around her with the careful eye of a farmer, and knew one thing: that Arianlach was not what he seemed. Whisperings from the village folk told her the same, and she resolved to make him tell her. And she knew that troll-folk could not make green magic, as he had with her garden.

"I _am_ troll-folk," he said, barely daring to breathe. He counted back the months he'd been with her. _Four. Only four. Not long enough !_

"Trolls don't have your kind of magic," she stated flatly, "and don't dare try to tell me that all this…" – here she waved her hand at the garden – "is not _your_ doing ! It certainly isn't mine ! What are you ?"

"Troll-kin, from the North !" he shouted. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "All winter long, I've helped you – nothing but that. I am here still, for you. Don't question me !"

"I'll find out !" she shrieked at his back as he stamped out of the house. In a rage, she ran up to her room and took out her grandmother's box. In it, along with the old woman's few treasures, was a river stone, grey-blue and spiralled with russet. There was a small, natural hole at the top through which a leather thong was threaded, and she put it around her neck, under her dress. She went down to the river and dipped it in, her need to know all that he was burning away at her good reason.

_This is a magic stone_, she heard her grandmother's voice say in her head. _It was given to me, from a far-away river, by the man named Iriel. It is a treasure beyond all gold's worth. This river-water is magic, this river-water reveals truth._

There was a chant that went with the river-magic, and she chanted it then, her voice low and urgent. She pleaded with the spirits of the waters to hear her. Mila did not know what, if anything, the stone would reveal if she gave it to Arianlach. The riverstones she'd placed in his mattress had revealed him to be other than troll, but had told her nothing more. Perhaps this stone, with its magic, might tell her what she wanted to know. _I do not like to be deceitful but if he will not tell me_….._I must know !_

That night, she placed the enchanted stone under Arianlach's pillow and once she was sure he was asleep, crept in to look at him. But she couldn't see him, for on the floor stood a man, tall and strong, with hair like pale moonlight flowing to his waist, and a shining star upon his brow. His face was furious and his blue eyes burned into her, a ring of silver fire around the perfectly round black pupil.

"What have you done ?" he thundered. She flinched back. He held up the stone between forefinger and thumb.

"If you'd held out for a year and a day, I would have been free," he continued savagely, "Eight more months ! But now your curiosity has ruined it all. _Damn_ your interference ! Thanks to you, Mila, my aunt gets her way, and my oath remains unredeemed." He flung the stone at her and she caught it deftly in her right hand.

"So who are you ?" she asked, refusing to let his anger intimidate her though inside she was shaking. He pulled his shirt on, and she noticed that he was beginning to shine as if he had stars under his skin. The light shone through the thin linen of his shirt and he looked colder than any ice-star. To touch him would be to freeze.

"I am _King_ Arianlach," he said curtly, "cursed, and dispossessed - and now, Mila, my love, I bid you farewell." He said _my love_ with more bitterness than she'd ever heard from the lips of any man, and it hurt her.

"But where are you going ?" she demanded. Panic rose in her suddenly and she clutched at his arm, seeing that his form was beginning to dissipate. He placed one cold hand over hers for a brief moment, his eyes softening.

"I am bound under a curse," he said, "my aunt hid my true form and banished me, because I stood in her way. She took my kingdom. But I made a pact. If you could have held out, I would have been free of the curse and could have reclaimed what is mine. Now I must go to her in her castle, and marry my cousin, and she will have dominion over all."

She held onto him, her eyes filling with tears. "But where, Arianlach ? You told me that you come from the North, but I don't know.…"

But he was already gone, and her hand held nothing but cold air. She sank down on the floor and wept for her foolishness.

_You silly girl,_ she scolded herself, _why didn't you leave him alone ? What does it matter that he wasn't what he seemed ? Hasn't he been your friend these long months past ?_ On the floor next to her sat one small star, a tiny glowing jewel of multi-faceted ice. She tucked it into her sleeve-pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

"I knew you'd fail," smirked Golga, fanning herself with a large fan of eagle feathers tipped in gold, "so you found a girl but her curiosity got the better of her. What fun ! And now the slut's garden will wither without your magic, and I shall call you _son_."

Arianlach looked at his aunt with disgust and hatred. Fat and old, she sat his throne like a toad upon a damp rock, and leered at him. He held his head higher. Her small yellow eyes sharpened.

"I see you left her a little something to remember you by ! Where is your star, the silver flame that was your naming gift from the Ice Lords ? What do you think she will do with it ? Did you think I wouldn't notice ? _Guards_ !" The last was a frightful bellow, and Arianlach found himself in the iron grip of two large troll-men.

* * *

In his cell, far below the thick stone walls of the white castle, he sat, his wrists clad in iron to ensure that he would not spirit himself away. Tomorrow he would be bound in marriage to his cousin, the price for his failure. _Or Mila's failure of trust._ That was a bitter thought, and he banished it. _What Arnoth weaves_…..From his pocket he took one of the three riverstones that Mila had once placed in his mattress and laid it on the floor in front of him. He knew that he still had some magic, weak and watery though it was. No troll could destroy green magic and he hoped it would be enough. He breathed on the stone, then held his breath in apprehension, watching it transform from a dull grey stone to a small bird. It fixed him with one black eye, and chirped. He put his finger to his lips, mindful of the guards outside his door.

"Return to your home, and take a message to your mistress," he whispered, "tell her: I need her help. If she will seek me, I may be found in the black castle east of the sun and west of the moon."

He watched the skies through the bars long after the bird had flown, thinking of nothing but a dark-haired girl who had river-magic and a quick temper and a heart full of fire.

* * *

Mila received the message with some astonishment, and nearly fainted when the bird, delivered of its task, promptly turned back into a plain grey riverstone. She picked it up and inspected it, frowning.

_Arianlach._

She flung together a small pack with bread and cheese, two apples, and half a ham, and a change of clothing, and turned loose the cow into the pastures and let the chickens out to roam free, and set out on her journey Northwards. Not long after, she came to a crossroads and it occurred to her that she didn't know the way. She stopped.

"Confound it !" she uttered in annoyance. "Why couldn't he give me directions ?"

"And where should he give directions to, lassie ?" asked a deep voice, cracked with age. Mila looked round, and saw, next to an apple-cart, an old woman so stumped and gnarled that she was all but part of the ground and the trees behind her. She took a rough wooden pipe out of her mouth and winked at Mila. Mila swallowed, suddenly nervous.

"I'm looking for the castle that is east of the moon and west of the sun," she said, feeling suddenly silly. _No such place, he's sent me on a wild goose chase ! _"But I don't know the way – even if it exists, which I doubt. So I'll just turn about and go home !"

"You could do that," the old woman agreed cheerfully, "or you could keep looking. I don't know the way myself, but my neighbour does, seven days and seven nights out of the next town. You could carry on, and ask her. Here, take this with you." She handed Mila a golden apple. "It might come in useful."

Mila took the apple, her face shining in wonder, and tucked it up her sleeve along with Arianlach's star. She turned to thank the old woman but found her no longer there, and only a rusty old apple-corer on the ground where she'd been. She sighed, and wondered if seven days and seven nights would be soon enough to save Arianlach from his fate. Suddenly, she felt light as a feather, and looking down at her feet, saw that they no longer touched the ground. She was rising, rising into the air on a warm South wind, which bore her over the hills and over the meadows to the old woman's neighbour.

"I thought you would be along," said the hag, wiping her fish-knife on her filthy apron, "I can tell you this: that there is a way to what you seek. Under a shadow between the stars, turn right at midnight and walk until morning. If you're not too late, you might be in time to break the curse. But you should take this. It might come in useful." And she gave Mila a fine silver comb, wrought with birds and berries along the handle. Mila tucked the comb into her sleeve and thanked the old woman, though she couldn't for the life of her think what she would need a comb for. Good grooming was not at the top of her list of priorities. She shrugged.

"He has sent for me," she said, "so I hope not to let him down."

"As to that, young miss, you might have thought of it before using that damn stone !" And the hag was gone, and in her place there was nothing but an old rusty knife and three fish-heads. Mila walked on but soon became weary, and despaired of ever making her way to Arianlach. And why did he want her ? She remembered the cruel words she'd spoken to him, her mockery of his strange appearance that was so troll-like and yet…._I knew he wasn't troll, I always knew ! Right from the first, when the riverstones bruised him, I knew….._

"You want to hurry up, if you're going to save your one true love," said a husky voice, a little like the rustling of leaves in an autumn wind. She looked round for the speaker but found no-one there.

"Don't stand there gawping, light on, _light on_ !" She staggered forward as something nudged her, and she found herself face-to-face with a noble white horse, its mane shining with stars.

"Did Arianlach send you ?" she asked. It rolled its eyes.

"Of course he did, who else would be sending for you ? Now are you coming, or are you walking all that way on your own two feet ?"

She mounted, knowing good fortune when she saw it. Instantly the horse changed, and re-formed, so that what Mila found herself bound to was not a horse, but a creature hideous and terrible to behold, its black sides heaving with slime and its small yellow eyes gleaming with hatred.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**

The apple and the comb feature in several versions of this tale that I have read, though I have put the comb to a different use, and also assumed that if the prince knew his lover was on her way, then it's probable that the evil troll would as well, and wouldn't stand idly by and let the girl succeed.

I also thought I'd introduce some humour for a little while, and a badly thought out plan on the part of Arianlach and Mila......

**

* * *

**

**Part Two – The ****Icelands**

Mila, bound to the troll-beast and exhausted from the night-ride through the icy waste, could not help but regard the black castle they now approached with fascination. Turrets carved from dark granite reached into the black skies, frosted with stars. She remembered such a star had dropped from Arianlach's brow, and she put her hand up her sleeve. Her fingers closed round the silver comb, and she pulled it out. It glinted, bright as a summer stream in the moonlight, and the troll, greed and jewel-lust shining in her small yellow eyes, stopped suddenly.  
"What is that ?"  
"A comb of silver," replied Mila nonchalantly, "why ? What's it to you ?"  
"Silver ? It is everything to me ! Comb my hair with it."  
"Why should I ?"  
"Why should you ? Why indeed ! Suppose I give you something for it. For that comb, I would set you free to walk a while. It isn't far now, not far to your king."  
Mila hesitated. She knew trickery when she saw it, and she knew that the castle was farther away than it looked. Still, if she were to reach Arianlach in time, then a bargain must be struck.  
"Take me a little further first," she said, " and then set me down, and I'll give you the comb."  
The troll eyed the comb, and it seemed to her that it shone brighter than any star-light. She squirmed with indecision, and Mila shifted impatiently on her back.  
"Oh, very well, trying girl ! But only a little farther, and then you shall get down, and I shall have that comb !"  
"I agree," said Mila, "well, ride on ! I'm tired, and we don't want me to drop the comb, do we ?"  
"I should cook you and eat you !" snapped the troll-beast, but she found a new speed, and they travelled on.  
In a little while, she stopped again, and flung Mila to the ground.  
"I've kept my promise, now you keep yours," she said, intending to snatch Mila up again once she'd got hold of the comb. Mila took the comb out of her sleeve and drew it once, then twice, then once again through the troll-beast's mane of coarse black hair. On the third stroke, the troll-beast gave an almighty shriek, and fell writhing to the ground, whereupon she was transformed into a harmless beetle. Mila smirked, then brought her foot down hard on the insect, grinding her heel in. Grim satisfaction darkened her features, and she muttered under her breath.  
"_That_ is for Arianlach, and _that's_ for tricking me ! Two can play that game, troll-hag !"  
She replaced the silver comb, now a twisted lump of blackened metal, into her sleeve, and setting her teeth, began the long walk to the castle.

*******************************

Arianlach looked up as his aunt slammed into his cell, her face full of fury.  
"Your slut seems to have got herself some help ! Tell me how ! Tell me how, or by all the ice-demons, I will kill you, and her too when she gets here !"  
Arianlach sat back in the straw, his eyes cold and insolent.  
"What help, aunt ? _I_ have not helped her - it is I who needs _her_ help !"  
Golga leaned down, so close that her nose almost touched his. He resisted the urge to draw back away from her.  
"She has defeated the one sent to capture her with a silver comb ! Look !" She thrust a mirror under his nose, and he looked.  
He smiled when he saw what the mirror showed him, a tall girl with dark hair and a grey hood, reaching up with a silver comb to comb the dirty black locks of a hideous beast. He watched as the beast dissolved into a tiny black beetle and was promptly crushed by Mila's heel. His heart swelled with pride and he chewed his lip to keep from laughing out loud.  
"She did not get that from me," he told Golga, "maybe you have more enemies than we first thought, hmm ?"  
She slapped him, her thick palm connecting with his cheek with more force than he'd ever felt in his life. His eyes stung with tears and his ears rang but he kept the smirk on his lips, and added a sneer.  
"She has magic of her own," he said, "magic that yours can't touch. What will you do when she gets here ?"  
"What will it matter ?" shrieked Gogla, "you will be married to my daughter and your precious little river girl will be too late ! Perhaps," she continued in a calmer tone, "I will cook her and eat her."  
Another slap. His head reeled. "And when my daughter has a son by you to be king here, I will kill you too, bastard son of the stars !" Golga hissed, and turned on her heel.  
The door slammed, and he heard the bolts scrape back. Iron bolts. He knew - he'd tried them with magic, and now his palms itched and bled.  
_Mila, hurry, hurry ! I need you, star of my heart,_ he thought, and felt his lip where Golga had split it with her blows.

* * *

Mila looked up at the tall black walls of the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, her heart in her mouth. _Now what ?_ she wondered.  
There didn't seem to be any door, and scaling the walls to the nearest window was out of the question. _If only I could fly._ She wrapped her cold hands in her sleeves and felt the apple. She pulled it out, holding it up to the light to admire the beautiful golden sheen.  
"What is that ?"  
Mila looked up, and stared back at the ugly face that gazed down at her from a window high up in the smooth granite wall. She threw the apple up in the air and caught it, then smiled.  
"It is an apple forged from the sun," she said, "pure gold ! Solid, I assure you. See how pretty it is !" and she threw it and caught it again. The troll princess watched greedily.

"Give it to me."  
"_Give _it to you ? Why should I ? You don't get something for nothing," said Mila, who by now had seen a way into the castle.  
"It's priceless, is it not ?" said the troll-princess, "but it's my wedding tomorrow. You may attend the feast, and have a new set of clothes, for I see yours are rags, if you give me that apple for a bride-gift."  
Mila peered up at the troll-princess. "What if I should ask for something else ?"  
"Then you may have it ! But I want that apple !" exclaimed the troll-princess impatiently. "What is it you want in return ?"  
"Your bridegroom - is he handsome ?" Mila asked. The troll-princess nodded excitedly.  
"The handsomest," she said, "but what..."  
"I will give you the apple if you let me spend this night with him," offered Mila, her heart in her throat. _If she refuses, then what hope have I ?_ But the troll-princess nodded eagerly, and gave the orders to let Mila in.  
"I will bring him to you, and then I can have the apple," she said, taking Mila's hand and leading her up into the tower and to a room near the top, a small and spartan room but luxurious nonetheless. White silk coverlets shrouded the bed, and white furs provided warmth on the cold black stone of the floor. Mila could see nothing through the tall arched window but black night, and the soft silver light of the ice-stars. She sat on the bed and waited for the troll-princess to bring Arianlach to her.

She rose to her feet when he entered the room, his hair loose and tangled and his clothes the old ragged ones he'd worn on her smallholding. It was a strange contrast, for now that she saw him, he looked like nothing but a king. His brow was high and arched and his mouth firm and wide, and when he smiled at her his frosty blue eyes lit with silver fire.

"Was the journey hard ?" he asked her, unsure of how he should greet her. She shrugged.

"Not particularly. I had help, though I almost was captured," she replied, and took a tentative, shy step towards him. He stood his ground, his breath ragged, and when she reached up one hand to caress his bruised cheek, he turned his face into her palm with a sigh.

"Then tell me how you managed this journey," he said, but she shook her head and taking his arms, wrapped them around herself.

"Later," she said, "my gold only bought one night with you."

_Later_ did not occur until the black had gone from the sky and the silver of dawn had taken its place, tinged with a faint gold from the rising sun. Arianlach had not slept, but contented himself with watching the girl who slept curled around him, her arm across his chest and her head on his shoulder. He kissed her awake, knowing that any minute his aunt and his cousin would come banging on the door to take him to his wedding. As she dressed, the star fell from her sleeve. He picked it up, and placed it in her hand.

_"_Yours," he said. "The Ice Lords gave this to me when I was named, and it is a pledge of honour and loyalty. You have mine; therefore the star is now yours."

She tucked it into her sleeve, her heart heavy. "I want only you," she said, "but how do I win you from your aunt ? I have no more gold, and nothing to bargain with." She turned from him and began to lace her dress, hiding her tears from his sharp clear eyes.

"I have an idea," he said suddenly, "do you still have the stone you put in my mattress ?"

"I do," she said. He smiled.

At that moment the door opened and Golga and her daughter stepped through. The troll-princess' dress was pure white silk, her thick wrists encased in silver and ice-gems, and her coarse black hair twisted on her head in an elaborate style. Arianlach looked her over with feigned appreciation, then sighed heavily.

"What is it now ?" demanded Golga. "And why aren't you dressed in the clothes I sent you ?"

"I fear, aunt, that I'm not good enough. Now that I see her, your daughter seems to me to me more beautiful than any star, and I am in awe of her. How can I compete ? She will be a laughing stock if she marries me."

Golga looked at him with deep suspicion, then at her daughter. She pursed her lips.

"You have a point," she said grudgingly, "but that's as may be, I don't see what can be done."

Arianlach looked down at his feet, then at his aunt. "I think I see a solution," he said, "when you sent me away from here, you gave me a new face. Should I wear such a face again, I would be equal to my queen in looks."

He held his breath, hardly daring to look at Mila. He hoped she would understand what to do; hoped she would not give them both away. He needn't have worried.

"Truly, had he worn that face last night, I would have known that his beauty far outmatched mine," she said, managing to squeeze a couple of tears out. Arianlach chewed on his lip. Laughing would ruin all. Golga nodded sagely.

"That is true; however, you weren't to know," she said kindly to Mila, "you are right, Arianlach – you must be equal to my daughter in beauty or no-one will take this marriage seriously and they will think she has married beneath her." She took a mirror from her sash and held it up to his face. The words she chanted chilled Mila with their black, outlandish tone, and then the handsome white-haired man was gone and in his place the familiar, brown troll she'd known in Brookwater. It was the face of a friend, plain and honest and Arianlach's eyes looked back at her. He smiled, and reached out to squeeze her hand.

"Stop that !" snapped Golga, "you are not hers now."

He took the mirror back from her. "Ah, but I look like all the others now," he said sadly, "where is the beauty you promised me ? How will my wife know the difference ?"

"I could tell," said the princess, "and I know that girl has magic, and will be able to choose you from all others. Don't try to fool me !"

"I have no magic," said Mila, "all I've ever had is magic items. How could I compete with you ?"

"Ha - I see the way of it," said Golga. She muttered a few words of Trollish and turned Arianlach back. "For your deceit, you will suffer !" she shouted, "but first – a wedding. Guards !"

"Mila, listen to me," said Arianlach, "you must go to the Wastes, seek out the Ice Lords, and ask their help !" He stumbled a little as the troll guards dragged him over the threshold and away from Mila. "Don't give up the journey !" She watched, her heart sinking in despair. It should have been so simple, so easy to take a wager that she would know her king anywhere, even in such a disguise. Even blindfold, she'd know him. He would not even need to speak. But Golga was not to be fooled, it seemed, not even for a wager, which trolls, according to lore, could never resist.

_I must go to the Wastes, or forever mourn the loss of him_, she thought. But no human had ever survived the ice desert.

* * *

Arianlach watched his new wife undress in the firelight, her stocky, sturdy body glowing with gold. He knew what his duty was, but felt nothing but disgust. He wouldn't be able to do it, he knew. Naked, she turned to him, a toothy smile on her broad face.

"Well, husband ?"

"Well, what ?" he demanded. "Don't expect this of me; I cannot love you !"

The smile faded. "Who said anything about _love_ ?" she sneered, "however, if you can't get it up, I know a herbal remedy for that ! I shall ask mother…."

He caught her wrist in a grip that he knew hurt her. "Leave her out of this, bitch ! This is between you and me, and I tell you: I cannot bed you. I _cannot_ ! You are beyond ugly; I revile you. I would rather eat spiders and drink the blood of rats than spend one minute with my body next to yours. Get into bed – I will sleep on the floor."

She howled with tears at that, but he did not relent, and, taking a pillow from the bed, stretched down beside the hearth to sleep. She had other ideas, however, and ran for Golga, who promptly came at her daughter's bidding.

"Take him out, bind him to the walls in iron," she ordered the guards. Arianlach merely laughed.

"Better that than your daughter's foul limbs entwining with mine !" he jeered, "Oh, what a beauty she is, what madness must I suffer that I do not love her !" They slammed his head against the wall to silence him, and through tears of blood, he saw only Mila's calm face, her steady brown gaze seeing all that he was, and he made no further resistance as they strapped him to the rocks.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 3 - The Icelords**

Mila laboured long on the frozen road, trying to find the gate to the Wastes. But there was none to be found, and her heart grew stony with her stubborn determination not to fail. Once, she came to a vast river, white water that roared over rocks of cold black granite. She kneeled and drank deeply, and the lump of twisted metal that had once been a beautiful silver comb fell free of her sleeve and tumbled into the waters. Mila watched in fascination as it became a small, silvery fish and swam away, over to the other side.

"Shame you didn't turn into a boat," she muttered, wondering just who the hags had been. She was sure that they would have helped her cross the river but as it was, there was no way to cross, if one did not have a boat, or could turn into a fish. She lay down, exhausted, and fell into sleep.

When she awoke, she found herself looking up into the face of a tall man. He wore a crown of stars and a robe of moonlight, and looking into his eyes was like staring into eternity, a gaze ageless and at the same time older than the world.

"I am Meier," he said, "you seek an entrance to the Wastes but you try to come by the wrong road. Sleep a little longer, and you will see the way."

Meier ? She had not heard the name before and she did not know who he was. He bent and blew a stream of icy breath deep into her, and she resumed her sleep, spiralling into blackness.

When she awoke, she stood on the grassy bank of what looked like the river she'd slept beside. _That I am still sleeping beside, over there, on the other side ! What is this ? Oh, ye Gods ! _Panic rose unchecked in her heart and forced her to her knees, but the scream inside would not be born. Gasping and panting, she tried to think.

"I see you found the way," said a musical male voice. She tried to look up but could not move, her limbs filled with ice. The sun could not warm, though it shone here, on everything green. "You will find yourself, once again, in but a little while," continued the voice, "I think you know that what you want is worth the price you've paid. And we owe a pledge of loyalty to him, to change that which should not have happened. Rise, now."

She rose, forcing leaden limbs to obey. She looked up into eyes black as night in a pale face framed with black hair. He smiled.

"Who are you ?" she asked.

"Laiharth," he said, "Lord of Waters. That is my silver river you crossed; and only with my help can you ever go back to the land of the living." He waved an arm around, bidding her look about her, and she saw that they were on a grassy plateau, and below them a deep, wide valley where brightly-coloured songbirds hovered above the tall grasses. On the other side, at the foot of a mountain, stood a tall golden hall, a waterfall emerging from its doors and crashing down the forested sides of the ravine to join Laiharth's silver waters that bordered the land between the living and the dead. Its music was entrancing, mesmerising; a lullaby that spoke to the soul of deep rest and peaceful sleep.

She turned to ask Laiharth whose hall it was, but found herself alone on top of the gorge with nothing but the wind and the sun for company. _I must go there_, she thought, looking down the valley to see if there was a path. This side, there was none, but the scrub and the rocks looked as if they offered a sturdy footing, and so she started down, picking her way among the hazels and the gorse, her eyes ever on the golden hall she saw far to the other side.

For how long she walked, she did not know, but soon it was night and she discovered that here in the realm of the Ice Lords, no stars lit the night, and no moon cast its unearthly gleam on the land. Mila found that she could not see her way through the trees, for though she had reached the valley floor and crossed it, there was still the far side to traverse. She realised that such a journey could not be made in the dark, and so she settled down to rest for the night. Sleep took her, deep and dark, and she dreamed of a bright star in the sky.

When she woke, she was back on the other side of the ravine, near Laiharth's river, and the golden hall seemed farther away than ever. She gritted her teeth and started back down the gorge again, but though she hurried, she reached the foot of the forested side only moments before once again it was dark. Stepping into the trees, a profound weariness took her, and she could not see the way, so that to carry on was useless, and she lay down once more and slept, her dreams full of the one bright star that upon closer inspection became Arianlach's face.

And in the morning when she woke, she was back on the banks of Laiharth's river. She wept in frustration.

"Are you going to give up ?" the words came upon the wind through the grasses, though she could see no-one. She rose to her feet and shook her head.

"I will not !"

And she set out again. That night, when darkness fell, she knew what to do. Pulling Arianlach's star from her sleeve, she held it above her head where it glowed, a faint light only, but enough to show her a clear path through the forest. Her feet made no sound on the deep-piled pine needles of the floor, though everywhere she looked, the light reflected back at her from a thousand watchful eyes. A prickling of fear down her back told her that they were the eyes of the lost dead, souls who had not found their way to the golden hall of sleep. She kept her eyes resolutely on the path before her, knowing that if she strayed, she would join the lost ones. As soon as she reached the top, day dawned again, and she found herself face-to-face with Laiharth. He smiled at her.

"So by the light of love you have found your way," he said. "Come."

He beckoned to her, and she followed, her feet sinking into the mossy turf, though his did not. He took her through a meadow of waving tall grass, and finally into the lofty hall of carved golden wood with high arched windows. A man stood at one of these windows, a man with long golden hair and long robes of green velvet. He regarded her with grave green eyes, then reached out and took her face in his hands. She felt the warmth of life return to her limbs as he kissed her deeply, and then he let her go.

"I am Arnoth, the Weaver," he said, "you have betrayed your lover's trust, you have failed him and condemned him to die on the walls of his own castle ! False, and suspicious, you have ruined him ! Do you know how you have come to this land ?"

She did know, and she wept for it. "But you wove this fate !" she cried, "I must return for him, I must, and change it ! He sent me to find you." He sighed and turned from her.

"Here is where all the dead must rest," he said, "few ever return. What I weave cannot be changed; I hold fate in my hands. And yet there is something which I do not control, and so I will grant you three chances – three lessons, which if you do not learn, you will be ours forever, and Arianlach must accept what is, for he made a bargain with us." He touched his finger to her brow and she found herself in a tiny cottage, hollowed from the trunk of an oak. Three lessons, Arnoth had said. She would learn them, and return.


	9. Chapter 9

Hanging from the walls of the castle, Arianlach had little to do but languish there, and dream. In his heart, the shard of ice grew, spreading into his veins and slowly freezing his blood. He heard the cry of white owls above him and wondered if he would soon be joining Mila in the Wastes. That he'd sent her there, he did not regret, for he trusted his bond with Laiharth. Each day, his aunt came out to look at him, and to ask if he would relent. Each day, his answer was the same, though his voice grew weaker.

"You will hang there until you consent to lie with your wife !" shouted Golga. Her voice echoed around the rocks and he winced.

"I will not," he whispered. She squinted up at him. He was dying; both knew that. She ordered him brought down, but only for time enough to recover. His limbs would not work, he could not stand, so he was borne inside on the shoulders of his guards. Golga gave him bread to eat, and a little cheese, but he did not have the strength. She grabbed the back of his head and forced the food into him.

"You will not die, you will _not _!" she spat, "not until we have a son from you ! So eat, _my dear lord_, eat !"

He ate, and when his eyes could focus and he could stand, she sent him back out.

* * *

Mila turned Arianlach's star over and over in her hands, twisting it through her fingers. To her alarm she had begun to struggle to remember who he was, as each day passed in peace and tranquillity in Arnoth's golden hall and the temptation to stay grew stronger. The Weaver was not to be seen, but Laiharth came to speak to her each day, turning her words around so that she no longer understood her own answers and she wept in frustration. Meier came and presented her with a feather.

"That is the star we gave to Arianlach," he said, "but it should not have that form any longer, for what use is it ? You will change it, with the feather. Carve me a knife-blade." And he was gone. Mila looked in mute appeal at Laiharth. He gazed back, his eyes unreadable and cold.

"I…can't," she whispered, "how can a feather carve a star – a jewel harder than rock ?"

"Do you think he'd have asked you if it could not be done ?" Laiharth said, "it is one way to prove your love for Arianlach. Remember his name." And he too left her, alone with her task.

For long ages she puzzled over how to achieve the impossible task, and the good earth around her cottage, watered by her tears, sprouted white flowers. She thought longingly of her own garden, far away in time and space, shrouded in snow, and suddenly she saw what had to be done. She took the feather and plunged it into the river, and when it froze hard she took the star and moulded it into a rough blade. She took the result to Meier. He smiled at her.

"Ice and water are great levellers of plains, and mountains, and all things green," he said. "And yet as soon as it is gone, the green returns. Keep the blade. It is yours."

She saw none of the Ice Lords for days after that, and then days turned into weeks, and she grew afraid. _Surely Arianlach is dead, or I'm forgotten_, she thought, and was surprised to find that the thought did not bring tears as it once would have.

She sat down under a tall birch, and leaned her head back against the trunk. _The Ice Lords have vowed him loyalty. He will be safe._

"How do you like my garden ?" asked Arnoth, appearing beside her in a shimmer of green. She looked up at him and smiled.

"It is beautiful," she said, "but less so than my lover's face, which I would see again."

A brief flicker of a smile crossed the Weaver's fair face. "And if you should find him changed ?"

"Am I not changed, too ?" she said, "I think I will accept it. But I have one question to ask you, if I may."

He sat beside her, his face sunny. "Ask," he said.

"When I sought the castle east of the Sun and west of the Moon, I met two ancient crones upon the road, who gave me what I needed to break a troll's spell and gain entrance to the castle. There, I lay with Arianlach. Was that your doing ?"

"Not mine," he said. "Laiharth forged a bond with Arianlach that I deemed unwise, and sent you help though I would have left you to manage. I do not say that out of malice; it is not my way to intefere with destiny." He reached out his hand and placed it upon her belly. Something stirred within her, a flicker of life. He smiled.

"I did not weave _this_, and yet I see that I should have," he said. Her eyes widened in wonder as she realised what he'd done. "I don't control _all_," he continued, "nonetheless, that was a weak attempt to thwart destiny ! Do you regret what happened ?"

She shook her head, understanding that he meant Arianlach's love-making. "Never. I regret none of it."

He nodded, satisfied. "Then I think there is something you should see," he said. "Come with me."

* * *

Golga looked over the noblemen assembled in the court and motioned her daughter forward. "Choose one," she said, "you'll get nothing from your husband now; he lies dying in the tower. We pushed him too far, I fear. Strange, for I thought he would live through sheer defiance of us, but he has given up. No matter – choose !"

"That stupid girl left him, that's why he's given up," said her daughter. "still, he'll be joining her soon."

The thought did not offer the comfort it should have done. She sighed, and pointed to a strong, black-bearded man who leaned on his axe and stared at her with barely concealed lust. "He looks vigorous," she said, "so I will have him."

"Very well," said Golga, "and now let us see to the king."


	10. Chapter 10

Mila stared into the mirror that Arnoth showed her, her heart racing.

"He's still alive ?" she asked, "he's still alive ! I thought he'd be dead by now, I thought…"

"And you do not say, _he is dying and I have failed,_" said Arnoth, "you have learned the value of hope in the face of great adversity, and that was your final lesson." He smiled at her expression. "Many who do not have hope do not notice the lack, but that is what brought you here in the first place. The lack of trust in others, and hope for yourself, was the root of your suspicion of Arianlach. Go and see Laihath. I bid you farewell."

She went to the edge of the waters, but found no-one there, only a boat with a long silver oar. She got in, and pushed off from the grassy bank. There, frozen and motionless, lay her own body. _When I wake, will I know myself ? And will he know me ?_

* * *

The castle had not changed, and she could see that though she'd spent long ages in the Wastes, she had not been but a few days away from Arianlach. But though she'd learned patience, and humility, and hope in the Wastes, there was one final challenge ahead of her. There her lover hung, by his wrists in iron manacles that were driven deep into the rock, and it seemed to her that he burned like a pale star, though the light flickered and waned. She had to reach him, but the sides of the castle were sheer and the only stair came from within. She sat down to think.

Above her, a few small stones came crashing down, disturbed by the feet of guards come to see if their captive was yet living. _Ice is a great leveller of all things,_ she heard Meier's voice say. She took the blade from her sleeve and set it to the rock, and found that it carved the sheer castle walls with no trouble, and that she might make a stairway of sorts for herself. Under cover of darkness she did just that, and climbed to Arianlach.

She kissed him into consciousness, and he smiled to see her.

"They taught you well," he whispered. "Set me free."

She tried the ice-blade on the iron manacles, but it would not carve so much as a notch. She tried to dig them out, but their bolts were rammed deep into the rock.

"I can't – it won't work," she said, "Arianlach…"

"I have ice in my heart," he said, "and there is only one thing that will conquer that: fire. You know what to do – you must do it !"

She kissed him tenderly, and went with tears in her eyes to set a fire at the foot of the cliff and heat the ice-blade. She feared for a moment that the ice would melt, but soon she saw that it did not, but glowed with golden fire. She took it back up her rough stair to Arianlach. He did not raise his head, and his eyes were closed. _Am I too late ?_ she thought, dread filling her. But she remembered Arnoth's garden, and the long years she had spent there. A few more moments would not matter. She kissed him again, and his eyes flickered open.

"Are you ready ?" she asked him.

"I am ready," he said, and she stabbed him deep with the blade of fire. His scream rent the air and he strained at his bonds with agony even as his body took on the glow of white fire, lighting up the night brighter than any star. Guards came running, but found themselves struck down by the fire that pulsed from Arianlach's body; it flared out and shook the castle to its very foundations. Mila watched in awe and terror as the bonds that held her lover broke, and he was flung into the air, still screaming as the fire burned away the ice. She hid her eyes from the light, clinging to the rock face, for the earthquake threatened to throw her down from her perch and dash her on the rocks below.

Then, just as suddenly as the fire had come, all went black. Silence reigned, though faint and distant she could hear the screams and moans of dying men, far below in the bowels of the fortress. She raised her head and looked for Arianlach, and saw him below, naked and unconscious on a plateau of granite. She climbed down to him, but Golga arrived there first.

"Filthy, sorcerous bitch !" she shouted, grabbing Mila by the hair and throwing her against the rock face, "how dare you ? _How dare you !_ You will die for this !"

"Let her go," said a quiet voice, and Mila was abruptly unhanded. Arianlach pulled the knife from his chest with a grim smile for his aunt. The ward-rune on his chest glowed, sealing the wound that had been made.

"The time for your threats and your black magic is now over," he said, "did I not swear revenge ? Thus I redeem my oath." And he plunged the knife into her throat. She opened her mouth to scream, but the blood drowned her voice and she began to shake violently, her limbs melting and dissolving into black slime. Arianlach watched, expressionless, and then lifted Mila in his arms.

"It is done," he said, "her magic will begin to fade now, and so I suggest we leave."

She clung to him. "You've got no clothes," she pointed out, and unfastened her cloak. She reached up and draped it around his shoulders and tied the neck-cords. The ground began to shake beneath them.

"_Run !_" he said, and, taking her hand, took off across the plain, while the castle behind them shook and tumbled its stones after them.

***************

In the morning, Mila woke to find herself lying on a bed of sweet meadow grass. Her first thought was one of alarm, thinking herself back in Arnoth's gardens, but she soon saw that they lay just where they had the night before, but that the snow and ice had gone and Spring had come. She saw Arianlach standing in the tall grass, his back to her, gazing at the white palace that now stood where only hours before, a fortress of black stone had been. Hearing her, he turned and smiled.

"Welcome to Lachlásalan," he said. "I am king here." _Land__ of __Green Fire__, _thought Mila, remembering it from her studies. The name referred to the flickering lights in the night sky, but she could believe it also applied to the lush beauty of the land's fertile meadows. Tall willows swayed gently in a fresh breeze, and from somewhere near came the sweet music of a waterfall, and the song of small birds. Mila shook her head in amusement and wonder.

"Just when I think I know you, and magic, you go and surprise me once more," she said. He laughed and took her hand in both of his, then bent his head to kiss her. His white hair fell over her cheek and she breathed in his scent, cool and fragrant.

"Marry me," he said.


	11. Chapter 11

Mila's first thought was of her farm. The white palace loomed above the meadowlands, a hodge-podge of towers and buttresses glinting in the sun, the ramparts adorned with fell beasts and clinging vines of stone. The land's flag, a single green flame on white silk edged with gold, fluttered and snapped against its pole in the breeze. To be queen of all that would be…..she didn't know what. What was expected of her ? Would she wear silks and brocades and do nothing but watch her husband hunt and sit at council ? Would she spend her days with ladies she did not know, sewing the banners and the bed-hangings and the fine linens ?

She couldn't imagine it. In her farm, there was nothing she was expected not to do. She could see, in her mind's eye, the dark rust of the flagstones scrubbed clean, and the bleached wood of the old oak table with years of knife-scorings and the green stains of herbs. She could smell the tea-roses that climbed the porch haphazardly, clinging where they could, and the scent of the herbs baking in their sunny bed, and she could hear the contented cluck of chickens scratching a meal for themselves out of the earth, and the burble of the nearby spring, set under a leafy bank and walled off with damp stones.

"I can't," she said, "My farm - I have to return home."

He looked stunned. "Home ? You are home, Mila ! This is your home now."

"No," she said, shaking her head, "here is not where my memories are, Arianlach. I have to….."

"And your heart isn't here either ? I don't believe that, not from a girl who's been to the Wastes and back, for me. Return to the farm, hand it over, do whatever you must, and then come back and marry me !"

She refused, stubborn to the last, and appalled at how simple he thought it was. He knew what she really wanted, but he wasn't prepared to give up the kingdom he'd lost for so many years.

Mila looked over the meadows, the grasses bending in the wind, showing their silver sides to the sun. Then she looked at the man who stood by her side, waiting for an answer that he wanted to hear. She touched his arm, and he caught her against him.

"Perhaps in one year," he said into her hair, "you might give me a different answer ?"

_Could I ?_ she wondered as she breathed in his warmth. She'd only thought of being with him when she'd gone to the Wastes, only thought of making him live. She'd never expected to be asked to give up all that she'd known and be queen of a strange land. And yet, to leave him….

"At any rate, I must return to Brookwater," she said finally, "I cannot leave the farm to the woods and the weeds."

"One year, then," he agreed, and took her back to the palace.

He would have sent many fine things with her, but most she refused saying she did not need such things as gold candlesticks and silk tablecloths on a country farm. He pretended to be offended, but he knew that she would never care for such things. After all, she'd freely given gold to be with him for one night. He could not understand her.

"One year," he said, and kissed her, and stood back and watched as she stepped through the doorway and into her own village.

* * *

"You have done nothing to earn this," said the voice of the Weaver, and Arianlach sat up and tried to focus on his surroundings. They looked suspiciously like the other side of Laiharth's river, and he wondered how he'd got there – he certainly hadn't tried, and as far as he could tell he had taken no wounds on his hunting trip. _Did I fall and break my neck ?_ he wondered, puzzled. He squinted across the river but could not see any trace of either himself or his companions. Someone blew a stream of warm golden air into him, and he found himself looking into the grass-green eyes of Arnoth.

"Why am I here ?"

"Because I brought you."

He should have expected such an answer, he supposed, unhelpful as it was. He got to his feet. Arnoth was watching, waiting, a secret smile on his lips. Arianlach sighed.

"I take it I have a lesson to learn ?"

A nod, a broader smile. He scowled. "And if I don't learn it ?"

"Then you don't get your reward."

"Blackmail !"

"_Life !"_

It never did to argue with the Weaver. He held out his hands, a gesture of submission.

"You show," said Arnoth, "a surprising lack of gratitude to one who died to save you. Think you that she existed solely for that ? In two words, you disregarded all her life, all her memories – all of who she is – and offered nothing in return."

"I offered a kingdom !" protested Arianlach. "Could I have given more ?"

When he woke, he found himself back in his own world, on his back in the tall golden grasses by the bank of a river where he and his hunting party had stopped to rest. Words, silken and chiding, echoed in his mind: _you could have offered yourself_.

"She gave up much to be with me, and I would give up nothing," he muttered, startling a hunter who had come to see if his lord was ready to move on. He aimed an angry kick at his sword belt and the man veered away, reluctant to come within kicking distance of the king when he was in that mood. Arianlach barked the orders to pack up and move on and berated them all for a pack of lazy dogs basking in the sun, and no matter that he'd been one of them, if they wanted venison they had better hunt it ! His captain, a slender man with black hair and a white face and eyes like midnight, repeated the orders and omitted the curses, and brought Arianlach's horse forward.

"A young buck was spotted, over near the wood," he said, "shall we ride that way ?"

"We ride east of the moon, west of the sun," muttered Arianlach bleakly, and his captain sighed and jangled his bridle, hung with silver bells.

"As you say," he said, wondering what on earth had got into his king and yet knowing better than to ask. He hoped the hunt, and a fine haunch of venison, would dispel his lord's strange mood.

* * *

Arianlach found the farm little changed, though the first gold of autumn touched the leaves and the fields were full of ripe wheat and barley. It prospered, and grew green, and he felt lighter as soon as his horse's hooves touched golden sparks on the road, baked hard in the heat of the summer. Behind him, silver bells sounded as his retinue followed him into Brookwater. They'd come the same road he'd sent Mila by, and they paused a moment to shake stardust from their hair and brush it from their horses' manes, scattering a shower of diamonds onto the road where they lay as raindrops sparkling in the sun.

"Here ?" said his captain, drawing rein alongside him. Arianlach nodded, and turned down the path to Mila's courtyard. He rode slowly, and let the scents of the farm come to him – a whiff of burnt grass, a hint of the cow byre, and the sweetness of roses that bravely faced the heat, wilting a little. He leaned down and touched his finger to a trailing vine, then dismounted as they reached the courtyard. A large mackerel cat opened both its eyes and gave him a baleful yellow glare, then turned its back and ignored him.

"Hello, Finch," he said, bending down to tickle the animal's ear. Finch flicked the ear away from the annoyance and pretended to be asleep. Arianlach straightened as Mila emerged from the house, her arms dusty with flour and her hair caught back in a bright blue cloth. He bowed.

"It's not been a year," she said sternly, but she smiled as she said it.

"I will wait out the year here, with you," he said. Behind him, his riders shifted restlessly. She looked at them, tall men with hair black as nothing, or pale as moonlight, riding steeds that seemed formed of winds and mists and river-fogs when she tried to look at them directly, yet solid as real beasts when she did not.

"And them ?"

"They will also stay," he said. He turned to the host, spoke a few words, and they dismounted and bowed to her.

"Tell them to stop it," Mila protested, embarrassed. The host laughed, a silvery whisper of wind, and merged themselves with the shadows among the roses, or spiralled into the light that cascaded to earth between the willows. Arianlach followed Mila into the kitchen, breathing in the scent of rising bread and green apples stewing in a copper pot on the fire. There was delicate lace still on its hook on the table, and the beginnings of a small coverlet on the chair that had once been occupied by Mila's grandmother. He did not have time to wonder about them, for Mila gave him a cup of wine and a kiss, then snaked out of his arms just as swiftly as she'd come into them.

"You will lose much, if you stay," she said, giving the apples a stir. He shrugged.

"I run that risk whichever way I turn," he replied. "I would rather gamble, and lose, than never know if I was right or wrong to do so."

She didn't understand, but did not say so, and as he shrugged off his fine cloak and laid it over the back of a chair, she knew it didn't matter.

"_I_ gambled," she whispered as she stepped once more into the warm circle of his arms, "and I won."


	12. Chapter 12

_"And that," said Arianlach to his young son, who sat cross-legged on a cushion and gazing up at him with adoration and admiration, "is how I –and your mother – defeated the Trolls and gained our kingdom. Never have I regretted it. I am King of a fertile and green land – and summer is a fine season, don't you think ?"_

_The boy thought about this for a moment, and then screwed up his face, trying to work out how best to phrase his next question._

_"Out with it !" laughed Arianlach._

_"But…..she must love you very much," said his son. The king let out a sudden shocked breath, his eyes firing with offence._

_"You doubt this, boy ? I never do. Explain yourself, your highness !" He watched as his son squirmed._

_"Girls are smelly. I will never marry one ! And I do not want one to go to the Wastes for me, because I wouldn't go for her – not for all the gold in this land !"_

_Arianlach laughed and picked the boy up. "You will go anyway, for yourself, in a few years," he said, "as is tradition. The Ice Lords and my grandfather made a pact once, and pacts must be honoured by all bound by them. I myself made one with Laiharth, to undo the curse that was placed upon me. Now, if you've no further questions, it is past time you were in bed."_

_Later, as he stood at his window looking over the night-cloaked green valleys and neat orchards, he felt his wife's arms around his body, her right hand sneaking down over his stomach to where the fire she had once set in him still burned. He caught that hand, and raised it to his lips and kissed it._

_"If you have a mind for that, it is best done in our bed," he growled. Her laughter sounded low in his ear and she led him over, away from the window. He snuffed the candles, but sent an orb of pale light into the rafters to cast a soft glow over them both._

_"One day we will have to find a suitable wife for our son," he said, voicing the thought he'd been chewing on half the evening, "but I do not think, given our own experience, that we should make the choice. A man must be master of his own destiny, and if his destiny includes a wife…..well, we shall see what can be done."_

_He sighed contentedly as Mila snuggled against him, twining her legs with his and making him purr with pleasure. The day of his son's naming loomed, and who knew what gifts the Ice Lords would bestow upon the boy ? Though he spoke of destiny, he knew that that was up to Arnoth. For now, he had only one thing he wanted to think about._

_"Turn off that light," Mila whispered, sliding down his body under the sheets, and from somewhere he found the self-control to raise one hand and snap his fingers, leaving them in warmth and darkness. _

_"Tell me," he said, though his mind was darkening with the promise of pleasure, "where your Grandmother got those riverstones from, and where you learned their magic ?"_

_He felt his wife tense against him, and then she relaxed with a sigh. "She never said, not exactly," she said, "but I remember a man, a wanderer, when I was very little, who taught me what he knew of green magic. He left one day, without warning, and I never saw him again. Grandmother said that he knew how to look into the future, and he knew the High Magic."_

_He thought about that for a moment, and then sighed, curling her against him. What Arnoth wove could not be changed, and yet Meier and Laiharth were always trying to meddle though he could not guess their reasons. He wondered who had won._

_"This man," he said, "what was his name ? And where did he come from ?"_

_"His name was Iriel," she answered, "and I never knew where he'd come from. But I suspect I know where he'd been, before he came to us. That stone was from Laiharth's river, wasn't it ?"_

_"It was," he answered. "I know of only two men from this land who have crossed that river – besides me, that is – and returned. And Iriel was the name of my father."_

_Her silence was profound as she allowed this to sink in. He knew that soon his own son would make that journey, to renew the alliance with the Ice Lords that protected them from the Troll folk, an alliance that Iriel had almost broken when he'd taken to wife one of their maidens, though she was only half-troll. He chewed his lip savagely as he thought how close the Trolls had been to surrendering Lachlásalan to the ice forever. _

_"No matter," he muttered, "what is done, has been done, and undone." _

_High magic was his to wield again, and as for the green magic – well, he had a mind for more children. Perhaps a daughter this time ! he thought, and reached for his wife in the soft darkness._

_THE END_

* * *

**A/N: Many thanks for the reviews, I hope you enjoyed my version of this story.**

The names Arianlach and Lachlásalan are both combinations of Welsh and Elvish words: arian=silver, lach=flame, alan=land, and lás=green


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